My muse's quiet amusement

The Winding Wind

it’s only the winding wind that follows the Sindh* like weaving twine all through the pind* looking for its mighty kin, its tributary twin.

where their paths align and interwine rough and wavy trickling and thin

knowing that wherein there is din there are certainly water-needing den-i-zens running along its splashing shoreline beguiled by its ripples benign it returns to where the crashing waves begin, began and rush ever towards time.